Once upon a time, there was a little girl in northern Michigan, stuck in a meaningless job. But a very nice man took her away from all that. His name was Charlie.
I kid you not. The year was 1976-1977 and I was waitressing at a private country club. The job was hot and heavy action from May to December with seasonal layoff from January to May. Perfect. I could work the dinner shift and make a bag of cash, spend the night partying (drinking age 18) and then pass out in the sun and work on my tan. Then come January, I was free to lounge about my parents house and be a ski bum and lodge bunny. Also taking to task the monumental job of maintaining my fitness and my long, blond, feathered locks. Affording lift tickets, hot toddies by the lodge fireplace (ok, usually I didn't have to pay--that's what Sven was for!) and Herbal Essence Conditioner was a breeze what with no rent, food, or utilities. Tips had long since paid off my car and unemployment was generous.
Around this time I got an interview for a secretary position at a large, local building supply. SOME members of my family had got it into their heads that maybe I should be working full time-as if 8 months a year wasn't enough!! (le sigh!) So, I trudged my butt in, at my Dad's urging and met the boss. I think I wore a white denim jumpsuit, cork platforms and a rainbow necklace--perfectly appropriate attire for a secretarial job. By some miracle, I got hired for the position. I had literally no skills. I couldn't type worth a damn and filing simply confounded me. A switchboard phone? Fuggedaboutit. So, mostly I dusted our desks and ran for coffee, being lucky that the coffee came pre-made out of a machine--or surely I would have screwed that up, too. There was an 80 year old bookkeeper, 30 guys and me. At least those odds were in my favor.
My bosses name was Charlie. He was funny and patient as I fumbled along. He consulted me on some very important issues, such as appropriate signage and paint colors for his boat. Or, maybe a nice, new gee gaw for his wife. As you can imagine,--can you see where this is going?- it wasn't long before I was tagged, "Charlie's Angel." The moniker spread like a California brush fire and I just applied more Bonnie Bell LipSmacker, tossed my frosted hair, and smiled. Life was good.
I enjoyed the job, "fame", and attention until a layoff occurred and my last person hired, not supporting a family, non skilled butt, was bounced. Charlie graciously gave me a good referral.
I haven't thought of that time in my life for a long time, but of course with the death of Farrah Fawcett, I drifted back. Her iconery touched me personally and I swung off it as long as I could.
But I couldn't and no one else could either--ever be her. She was a sunny light that made us take notice. And notice we did when this past week she succumbed to her disease. I just want to say thank you to her for giving a small town girl a chance for a little taste of glamour. R.I.P. Angel. xoxo